


Impasto: Adding Layers of Blue and Green

by Minxie



Series: Impasto [2]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Imapsto 'verse, M/M, Post-Series, QAF (US)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-02
Updated: 2009-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-04 02:38:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>But I have news. Well, I might have news tomorrow morning. And it isn't the kind you share over the phone. To be properly appreciated it needs to be shared in person. Preferably one-on-one. With a bottle of champagne and plenty of condoms.</i></p><p>Second in my Impasto 'verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impasto: Adding Layers of Blue and Green

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to _alicesprings for the beta read!

Brian is pissed. It's obvious in the way he's holding his shoulders and the brusque way he's pushing through the crowd. I'm glad we don't have to wait for luggage.

I want to ask what happened in New York, happened between him and Justin this time, but I'm not that brave or stupid. Instead I start rambling about the store and Ben and hope that he leaves my head attached to my shoulders.

Next time he says not to worry about picking him up, that he'll just hire a car and driver, I'm going to let him. This…

Is bullshit.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

I drop down into the car and sigh. Mikey thinks it's Justin that's bothering me. It's not. My trip to New York had nothing to do with Justin. It was pure business.

Pure business that failed.

One of the best marketing proposals I've ever come up with and it's shot down. In flames. And it wasn't the first time.

It isn't just that I failed – don't get me wrong, the failing is part of it – but this was going to finally get my foot in the door of New York's big business market. To support additional Kinnetik offices – namely one in New York – I need big business. Businesses that can either make or break my reputation.

Isn't that a lovely thought? I'd cringe at the cliché of _make or break_ if it wasn't so fucking true.

I've worked my entire life at keeping my business life and personal life separated. Now to have one fulfilled, I'm banking on the other. Cosmic irony at its finest.

"I didn't see Justin."

Michael looks over at me, obviously startled but still curious.

"It was business. Making a pitch to a potential client."

He nods. "Trying to tap the New York market."

"Only I didn't."

Fuck, I need a drink. Or maybe not, seeing as my mouth is already running its own preschool-esque sharing circle. Traitor.

Get comfortable talking to Justin and look what happens: I'm opening up to Mikey. Who can't keep a secret to save his ass. He'll be on the phone with Deb – who will then tell everyone within a three state radius – before I'm closing the loft door behind me.

Welcome to my life.

"Maybe you'd feel better if you'd gone to see Justin."

I'd feel better if those fuckers had at least let me finish the damn pitch before packing me off with a pat on the head and a holier-than-thou smile.

I shake my head. "Part of our plan. Short business trips are strictly business."

Now he's shaking his head. "You two either have no ground rules, or so many I don't know how you keep them straight."

"Nothing straight about either one of us, Mikey. You should know that by now."

"Oh, shut up." But he's smiling. And I'm smirking. And the world slowly starts slipping back into place. Just in time to call Justin.

Here's hoping he had a better day than me.

* * *

Holy fuck. His day was definitely better than mine.

We're at ten minutes and counting and I don't know if he's even taken a breath yet. Right now, he reminds me of Gus, nothing but a ball of energy and excitement, and I can't help the smile that forms.

"One of the artists dropped out of the Up-and-Coming Artists show. Says she is too sick, which she does have a cold, but we all think it's because… well, that doesn't really matter. Anyway, Jacob asked me if I wanted her place. Said he'd have asked me first but, you know, I wasn't exactly here then and really, my work went crappy for a little while there."

I'd be jealous of the gallery owner if I didn't already know that Jacob was both strictly hetero and old enough to be Justin's grandfather, possibly even my grandfather.

Besides, he's giving Justin a chance at his dream.

"Thank God I had the work ready to step in when Alicia got sick. It's only four paintings but…"

I can picture his shrug, his lips quirking as he tries to reign in the happiness.

"But it's your first big city show – accidently or not."

"Yeah," he whispers, before lapsing into one of our usual silences.

Fuck. Now I wish I'd said to hell with the rules. I want to be New York.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"I wish you were here." The words slip out before I can think about them. I frown and set my beer down. New personal rule: watch the alcohol consumption until _after_ Brian calls.

Then he surprises me.

"Me too. That's what I was working on today."

The sound of him moving around the loft – opening and closing the refrigerator, booting up the computer – echoes through the phone line.

"How'd that go?"

He sighs softly. "Let's just say I won't be earning any frequent flyer miles thanks to J and S Formal Wear."

"Shit."

"My thoughts exactly."

I wait for Brian to say something else, to tell me what happened. Instead he says, "So. You've got two weeks before becoming a star, huh?"

"Like that'll happen overnight." I give him the out, knowing just how much he hates to fail at anything. And, even more, how much he hates talking about it when he does. "You'll be here, right?"

"Wouldn't miss it, Sunshine."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Hey, Bri?" I wait until he looks up from the contract, frowning. "Got a minute?"

He waves me in, despite the aggravated look, and motions to a chair. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Theodore?"

I clear my throat. This sounded much better in my office. "About these trips to New York."

His brow furls together even more. Jesus, what was I thinking?

"Just spit it out."

And, yeah, that was a bit of a menacing tone.

"I've been trying to figure out why you're not getting any bites on the campaign proposals."

Brian arches a brow, but at least the annoyance is fading from his face. "And?"

"The designs are solid, the art good, the placement appropriate…"

"The point, Theodore. Today."

"All that is left is the fact that we're in Pittsburgh." There. I said it. I drop down into the chair and wait for Brian to connect the dots.

"Yet without the accounts, there is no reason to be anywhere else."

I shake my head, exasperated. "No, you're missing what I'm saying."

He motions me to hurry up. "Then explain it better."

"The businesses you're chasing are spoiled. They're accustomed to having their agent nearby, in the city whenever they feel the need for personalized care, a little bit, well, maybe a lot, of hand-holding."

"And with us in the Pitts, that's a service we can't provide."

"Exactly."

"Well, thanks for the insight." He stands and starts heading to the door, a dismissal in the making. "But again, I say, without the accounts, there is no reason to be anywhere else."

"We need at least one person on the ground in New York full time before your next pitch." I blurt it out, knowing that Brian's patience, short at the best of times, has reached the end. "If we can offer that same immediate attention and babying, we should be able to land the accounts."

"Which would be lovely. _If_ we could afford it."

I wait until he is looking at me and say, "We can."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Justin's official introduction to the New York art world is tonight. He knows I'll be there. He helped arrange the car service picking me up from the airport. I'm scheduled to arrive just as the doors open. What he doesn't know is that I'm not coming alone.

I'm bringing his comfort zone with me. Lindz and Mel, Daphne, the entire gang. Even Mother Taylor.

Some of them would have made the trip without me. Jennifer, Ben and Michael. Possibly even Emmett. But the two he needs most – Lindsay and Daphne – needed both prodding and a plane ticket.

It's worth the knowing looks, the not-so-veiled jibes about openly being a couple, when we all step through the doors and Justin looks up, seeing his family there to support him, and smiles. Even if the smile is too stiff to be an honest one.

"What…"

I cut him off with a hug and a quick pass of lips. "Thought you could use the friendly faces. Besides," and I look over my shoulder; stare pointedly at the hodge podge from Pittsburgh, and smirk, "how else was I going to monitor what everyone wore?"

He chuckles and rolls his eyes, the tension that has infused him finally starting to bleed out of his shoulders. The hard edge in his eyes clears and his smile morphs into a natural, truly happy one. "You're evil."

I just raise one eyebrow and, with my hand pressing gently against his back, lead him over to the others. "Evil genius, maybe."

When he pulls away, hugging his mother and then everyone else in turn, I sigh. Hopefully this will be enough to keep him relaxed.

Justin Taylor in a snit would have done wonders for his reputation. Not.

* * *

This is the first time I've woken up beside Justin since Theodore mentioned having a Kinnetik representative in New York. I still don't know if we can swing the numbers, if we should even try until I sign a client, but having Justin draped along my side with his head on my chest is fast becoming the idea's biggest selling feature.

I'm sure the fact we're in a hotel – and a very comfortable bed – is playing a part too.

The opening last night was a success, proving – to me, at least – that Justin needs to be in New York. He needs the experience and the connections available in the city's art district. He needs to get his name out there, to become recognizable.

Two of the four paintings sold. Impressive for a complete unknown. I'm betting the number of opening night sales will only increase with each show.

I look over at Justin and smile. He's looks so young, so innocent when he's asleep. But I know better. I know what he is capable of, how he looks in the throes of an orgasm. And right now, that's what I want to see – Justin riding my cock, head thrown back, skin shining with sweat and flush from arousal…

It's easy enough to kick the sheets to the floor, to reach a hand out and snag the lube and a condom from the bedside table. Like a hundred times before, I slick my fingers and reach down, tease along the crack of his ass, press into him, finger him until he slowly blinks his eyes open, starting the day caught in a heady fog of lust and need.

"Brian…" It's a half moan, half plea. And really way sexier than it should be.

I brush a kiss over his mouth, a ridiculously chaste bussing of lips, and, at the same moment, push into his ass with two fingers, spreading them, opening him.

"Brian."

Justin rocks back on my fingers, then forward, grinding his cock into my hip.

"Fuck me."

I shake my head. "No."

"Please. Fuck. Me." He whimpers softly, cants and sways against me, moaning between each word.

Jesus, fuck, and damn. I should have put the condom on before I woke him up. I rip the package open with my teeth and work the latex over my cock, all the while my fingers flexing deeper into his ass.

"Brian, dammit."

His eyes are blown, black and glassy, and his lips, _Christ_, his lips are swollen, red, wet. Fuck.

"Ride me, Justin." The rough sound of my voice startles me. I'm just as hungry, just as wanton as Justin is. It's one of the reasons I've never been able to let him go. And yet, hearing it so obvious in my voice still shocks me.

He's moving to kneel over me, and my hands are gripping his hips, then he's sliding down, taking my cock into him inch by inch. Stopping and adjusting and breathing.

My head drops back, my eyes close, and I lose myself in this, in Justin. I could stay like this for hours. Right here with Justin working slowly up and down my cock, touching me, hands roving over my arms and chest, fucking my mouth with his tongue, mimicking the way I'm fucking his ass.

Hours wouldn't begin to be long enough. Forever is starting to sound too short.

We're going to be so fucking late for brunch.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

They've been fucking each other. Not that any of us are surprised; it's what they do. Still, none of us has the balls to say something about it.

"Whoa, baby. Somebody got some action this morning."

None of us except for Emmett, that is.

Justin blushes that crazy shade of red and slowly slides into one of the empty chairs. "Yeah, uh, good morning."

"Afternoon."

Brian glares at Emmett. "Whatever."

I turn my face towards Ben and laugh.

"You too, Mikey."

Brian is so protective of Justin, it's almost amusing. Almost because I was there when everything fell apart and Justin left with the fiddler. I know what it did to Brian.

And I wonder just how much worse his reaction would be now. Not that I believe Justin is going to leave Brian. But because I worry that Brian will wake up one morning in the middle of a panic attack and find a way to push until he is alone again.

"So," Brian looks around the table. "Were the reviews bad enough to chase half the guests back home?"

All of the color drains from Justin's face. "Fuck. I forgot all about…"

"The girls went shopping." Ben speaks up before Justin can freak even worse. "They said that you were obviously celebrating the reviews."

Ben tosses a folded section of the newspaper to Brian. "They loved him."

I can see the relief on Brian's face even as he arches a brow and replies in a confident, smug drawl. "Of course they did. I expected nothing less."

Justin ignores us all, snatching the paper away from Brian, his eyes moving rapidly over the article. A smile appears on his face and he starts reading. "If art imitates life, Justin Taylor has walked a path riddled with potholes and obstacles. In turn, he has poured every emotion garnered from them into his art. His work lacks all semblance of classical beauty. Instead it is an array of bold and heart-wrenching strokes, layered over dark backgrounds and smoky highlights, blended to tell a story, each one unique. Passion, heartbreak, love, and the list goes on. This young man is one to watch."

Justin looks up and I know Brian is going to escape with him, drag Justin back upstairs and to their bed. Justin's virtually begging for it.

Instead he leans and presses a completely innocent kiss to Justin's cheek. "Way to go, Sunshine. I'm so proud of you."

Almost, I'm sure, as proud as I am of Brian.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Are you sure?"

I look at Ted and nod, a single tight jerk of my head. "Yeah, Theodore, I am."

"Well, I have to say, Bri, that I actually expected you to go the other way."

A huff of laughter works its way out and I shake my head. "It all boils down to the numbers."

Ted smirks and waves a clutch of papers at me. "I told you…"

"I know what you told me." That was more snappish than I'd intended. What the fuck ever. "Now get to work with what I told you."

He rolls his eyes but heads to the door all the same. "You're the boss."

I wait until he's out of ear shot and mutter, "Like that fucking solves anything."

* * *

Justin isn't expecting me. Our next weekend together isn't for another three days.

But I have news. Well, I might have news tomorrow morning. And it isn't the kind you share over the phone. To be properly appreciated it needs to be shared in person. Preferably one-on-one. With a bottle of champagne and plenty of condoms.

I have the champagne. Justin will have the condoms.

Flipping my cell open, I dial Justin's number.

He answers after the second ring.

I can barely hear him over the techno blasting in the background. There are times I think he misses Babylon's DJs more than anything else.

"Start turning those fucking locks. I'm on my way up." I snap the phone shut before he can respond.

By the time I reach the fourth floor – and why do they not have an elevator in this dump – the music is down and Justin is leaning against the doorjamb. He's covered in paint, splattered dots of deep, dark red.

"Hi." I lean in and kiss him, walking him back into the apartment-cum-studio and kicking the door shut behind me.

Justin smiles, eyes full of laughter. "Is it Friday already?"

"Nope. Got a couple of meetings here this week and thought I'd come in early." I flick my tongue out over my lips, wetting them and teasing him at the same time. "Besides, I thought you liked spontaneity."

He arches a brow, a look I know damn well he learned from me. "And stay late?"

"Maybe even longer than you expect."

I know my answer is cryptic, but where's the fun if I can't bait him every-now-and-then?

"Bri…"

With a wave of the bottle, I cut him off. "Got room in the fridge for this?"

"Are we celebrating something?"

He takes the champagne and settles it in the near empty refrigerator. I take another look at him, a careful top-to-bottom inspection. "You've lost weight."

Justin shrugs. "Been painting too much. When I look up it's four in the morning and everything nearby is closed up for the night."

And then he's pushing into me, snaking his arms around my waist and nuzzling against my neck. As distractions go, it's pretty effective.

"What's the champagne for, Brian?"

Little fucker. He's picked up more than arching an eyebrow.

"Tomorrow." I stop talking to kiss him, to start moving him towards the bed. "Depends on the meeting. It'll either be a celebration or I'll be drowning my sorrows."

"M'kay."

And then the only thing either of us is worried about is getting off.

We stumble across the room, stripping and kissing and rutting against each other. I keep waiting for this to fade, for this urgent _need_ to disappear, to morph into a simmering want before fading completely. It hasn't in almost five years, but…

When Justin hits his knees and swallows tightly around my cock, I actually find myself _liking_ his rundown, one-room flat. Proximity to the bed is working in its favor.

Then Justin hums and I fall back onto the mattress, one last thought filtering through my head… Christ, Justin's right.

Spontaneity is a fucking good thing.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Like always, the first time is fast and dirty. The unusual part is that it was Brian who got fucked. That he rolled over and damn near begged for it, as much as Brian Kinney will beg. Meaning he rolled over, there was absolutely no talking about it – just a hissed, "yes," as I pushed into him – and less than his usual I'll-bottom-for-you stoicism.

Now my apartment reeks of sex. It's not as pleasant as it sounds. I stretch and crack open a window, letting fresh air in and the heated scent of sweat and come and drying paint out. We pass a joint and a bottle of water back and forth, lost in the comfortable quiet that only happens after sex.

"You staying here the whole time?"

He nods, looking anywhere but at me. "Was planning to."

"How long are you gonna be in town?"

Brian rolls to his side and finally looks at me. "How long do you want me to be?"

I bite back the immediate response of 'forever.' No reason to take five steps back when, thanks to his drop-in visit, we've just taken a few of them forward.

"Depends."

His lips quirk into a smile. "On what, Mr. Taylor?"

I fight to keep my expression serious. "How much you plan on putting out and whether or not you're constantly under foot."

It gets the reaction I'd hoped for. He bursts out laughing, rolling on top of me and pinning me down.

"I'll have you know that putting out has never been an issue for me."

It doesn't escape my notice that he only responds to half of my comment, drawing the line on what he's willing to talk about right now. I measure my words to stay well within that boundary. "Sounds like we may be able to work something out then."

Brian leans down, surrounding me in him. His smell, his heat, his body. All of his attention is focused on me, on my face, and he says, "We should discuss it further over dinner."

Holy shit, he's serious. I can see it in his eyes.

"Tomorrow. After my meeting."

Must be one hell of an account if it has him talking like this.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

I see Brian before I clear the gate. We have three buildings to look at today. Knowing Brian as I do, there is only one that he will be interested in. I'm saving that one for last. I want this sealed today just as much as he does. The faster I find him a location, the sooner my son is no longer alone.

"Good morning, Jennifer." He reaches out and takes my bag, slinging it over his shoulder and guiding me through the crowds with a hand at my back.

"Brian." We finally break through the throng of people and quickly make our way to the car he's hired for the day.

I give the first address to the driver and sit back. "So, how is my son?"

The tiny smile tells me I was correct. He flew in a day early to spend the night with Justin.

"Not eating enough, but hopefully today will bring an end to that little issue."

Seeing the concern on Brian's face almost makes up for the secrecy of the trip, of being in New York and not seeing my son. Especially if he's not taking care of himself.

Reaching into my bag, I pull out three building descriptions. "Time to get started then."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Four hours and thirteen minutes, start to finish. And all I want now is to get back to Justin's dinky little flat and fuck his brains out. On every surface available.

I reach for my phone and then change my mind. He gave me the keys for a reason.

His music filters out into the hall. It's loud enough that I should be able to sneak in and surprise him. Or scare the shit out of him.

I ease the locks open – and thank fucking hell we only have to deal with all these damn locks for two more weeks – and step inside. He's caught up in his painting, adding grey to a canvas covered with streaks of blue and green.

He's engrossed in the painting, gnawing on his bottom lip while he drags the brush – one of the smaller ones – over the canvas. When he steps back, is completely clear of his work, I call his name.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

I turn around and, trying to hide the surprise, smile. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long."

But he's out of his suit jacket, his cuffs and shirt hanging unbuttoned. He's been there longer than he's letting on. Just watching me.

Fuck if that's not hot.

I start cleaning up. I want to know what happened today, who his meetings were with. Is he staying. And by the look on his face, the heat that's building behind his eyes, he is. Staying.

It's been on my mind all day. Brian staying in New York. I've liked the idea since he tossed it out so mysteriously last night. And with Brian across the room, stripped naked and lazing across the bed, my cock is definitely getting behind the idea.

Finished cleaning – only as much as necessary – I turn and stare at Brian. "Celebrating or drowning sorrows?"

"Celebrating." He smirks, crooks a finger, and says, "Now come 'ere."

Like I would say no.

I tug my clothes off as I walk to him. When he reaches out, tumbles me to the bed beside him, he's smiling, playful.

And I know we're gonna have a good time tonight.

We laugh and tickle and tease. No time line, nowhere else to be, nothing weighing us down. Somehow, mixed in with the fun, I end up on my back, legs bent, and Brian licking and sucking – _goddammit_ – between them.

"Brian, please." The begging begins.

"Right here, Sunshine." And flicks his tongue over the head of my cock, draws a shudder, another of my whimpered pleas. "Right here."

* * *

Dinner ends up being a picnic on the floor catered by the corner deli. Sandwiches and champagne. That may even be a first for Brian Kinney.

Brian is flopped back on pillows, naked as the day he was born. I, on the other hand, have my boxers on. That's what happens when you lose the coin toss and have to answer the door for the delivery guy.

I start cleaning up, leaving Brian to his thoughts. So far I've learned absolutely nothing about today's meeting. Except that it made Brian hornier than all fuck. Which, yeah, not complaining. The curiosity is eating me up but I'm patient, have learned to be patient where Brian is concerned.

He'll bring up whatever he's pondering when he's ready. Asking before that will only piss him off. And the day, the past two days have been too good to fuck up now.

I'm rinsing out the glasses when Brian, voice almost too soft to hear, says, "You ever think about moving?"

"Back to the Pitts?" I know Brian isn't talking about Pittsburgh, but he needs to say it out loud. _I_ need to hear him say it, to make it real for both of us.

He pushes himself off the floor and comes to stand behind me. "No, Justin. Nowhere near the Pitts." He reaches around me and, turning the water off, motions me towards the bed. "Put that down and come here."

I follow him to the bed and, stealing one of his cigarettes, turn my attention to him completely. "Talk to me, Brian."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Talk? Not as long as I can avoid it.

We may be getting better at the whole communication thing, but that doesn't mean I won't take advantage of having a way around it. Instead of talking, I snap open my briefcase and hand Justin a sheaf of papers.

He starts reading, emotions flitting across his face one after the other. Confusion. Understanding. Hope. He's always been an open book. I don't want that to ever change.

And then he looks up at me, a light dancing in his eyes. "Brian?"

"The first floor would be the Kinnetik: New York office."

He drops the papers and crawls across the bed. "And the second floor?"

I drop my gaze to the blanket. He wants this, I know he does. So asking shouldn't be so fucking hard. Sighing, I look up and say, "Our apartment. If you want…"

He smiles and then laughs, crawls right into my lap. "Oh, I want."

Then his arms are around my neck and he's pushing me back, forcing me flat against the mattress. And for the first time since Ted made the suggestion, I know in my gut that everything is going to work out.

As long as I don't screw it up somehow.

"Don't worry, Brian," he whispers, giving me that knowing look I love and hate in turn. "I won't let you."

 

_…end…_


End file.
